But when he had covered six miles of the route, he came to a wide channel which was not yet frozen over. It lay between two large pans. How far he might have to diverge from his course to cross without risk, he could not tell. He was impressed with the fact that, once across, the way lay clear before him--a long stretch of solid ice.
He sought for a large cake of floating ice, that he might ferry himself across with his gaff. None great enough to bear his weight was to be seen--none, at least, within reach of his gaff. There were small cakes a-plenty; these were fragments heavy enough to bear him for but an instant. Could he cross on them? He thought he might leap from one to the other so swiftly that none would be called upon to sustain his full weight, and thus pass safely over.
With care he chose the path he would follow. Then, without hesitation, he leaped for the first cake--passed to the second--to the third--to the fourth--stepping so lightly from one to the other that the water did not touch the soles of his boots. In a moment, he was whistling on his way on the other side, leaving the channel ice bobbing excitedly behind him.
Soon he broke off whistling and began to sing. On he trudged, piping merrily:
'Way down on Pigeon Pond Island, When daddy comes home from swilin',[6] Cakes and tea for breakfast, Pork and duff for dinner, Cakes and tea for supper, 'Way down on Pigeon Pond Island.
At noon he came to an expanse of bad ice. He halted at the edge of it to eat a bit of the hard bread and dried venison in his nunny-bag. Then, forward again! He advanced with great caution, sounding every step, on the alert for thin places. A mile of this and he had grown weary. He was not so quick, not so sure, in his estimate of the strength of the ice. The wind, now blowing in stronger gusts, brought the water to his eyes and impaired his sight. He did not regret his undertaking, but he began ardently to wish that Creepy Bluff were nearer. Thus moved, his pace increased--with ever-increasing peril to himself. He must make haste!
What befell the boy came suddenly. He trusted his feet to a drift of snow. Quick as a flash, and all unready, he was submerged in the water beneath.
_Billy Topsail Wrings Out His Clothes and Finds Himself Cut off From Shore by Thirty Yards of Heaving Ice_